


Like Those Twins From Hellraiser!

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: LowRes [13]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Dirty Talk, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, F/M, Fluff, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Smut, Tattoos, Voyeurism, handjob, insecurities being dealt with accordingly, nerds talking in nerd code, using recording equipment incorrectly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 00:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Anonymous asked: a smol request for wrench b/c i've been binging your fics on AO3!! a simple reader or with lowres where maybe she is wearing wrenchs mask and/or some body worship with wrench doing it to reader/lowres or vice versa??A/N: I did my best despite a writers rut. Hope you like it, Anon! <3





	Like Those Twins From Hellraiser!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



Today’s been a lazy, slow day in the middle of winter which has only ebbed into an equally lazy evening at the hacker house in the Valley. 

 

Your room here is where you and Wrench come to get away from the outside world… or when you’ve both been kicked out for being insufferably cute as Sitara put it - lovingly kicked out of course, but kicked out nonetheless. This is one of those times where you both left of your own volition. Something about the warm, cluttered room seemed the better decision after the noisy DedSec party the night before. 

 

In the cold dark parking lot down by the bay, Wrench turned to you, dropped to one knee and said - while your heart did donuts - that he wanted to play big spoon to your little spoon back at the bat cave. After gently kicking him in the kneecap you’d readily agreed.

 

Now it’s super late or super fucking early, and the alcohol is wearing off, making you both awake and sleepy but mainly chilled and content. 

 

While it never gets below fifty-five on a ‘frosty morning’ in Frisco, it’s still cold enough to numb your toes, so you’re bundled up in bed with a ‘borrowed’ pair of Marcus’ track pants with Wrench’s boxers on under that and nothing else but the blanket wrapped around your neck. The few comments you’ve gotten about the pants has lead Wrench to poke fun at you for having hidden feelings for his best friend and how soon you’ll betray him for a taste of dark chocolate. It’s cute at first, but after the third comment, you’re starting to wonder if Wrench is actually jealous. It’d be hard to twist it like that, considering how Wrench stole the pants in the first place, but an insecure Wrench has little basis in reality anyway, and once the self-doubt begins it’s hard to quell it. 

 

“... or a white and dark chocolate s’mores escapade,” you joke, rubbing your nose along the bend of his arm where he’s warm and tastes like salt. Maybe if you play along, he’ll just keep on joking about it and not, ya know… worry.

 

“Maybe I’m the Bavarian cream to the toasty LowRes crust? Marcus can be the chocolate frosting and-“

 

The white chocolate anarchist lounging beside you on the bed starts trading witty banter with himself, never missing a quip, while he twiddles a couple micro screws on the innards of the spiked mask over his stomach. An episode of Rick and Morty muted with some old school Black Flag, plays in the background. It’s all pretty quiet. Who the fuck knows what time it is or if anyone else is in the house, but with the door locked it doesn’t really matter. Also… the sound dampening foam B3ta stapled to the outside of your room means the feeling is pretty mutual. 

 

“-I mean, would I ride that gravy train if given a solid excuse? MAYBE!” The micro screw in his hand points across the room; knuckle tendons straining under the incognito ink. You peer upwards, nose stuffed into his skin, as Wrench makes a face as if he imagines how that scenario would play out at warp'fucking'speed. His hooked nose scrunches up before adding, “Eh, never mind. A three’s company would be ideal but too-too risky… I dunno if my archaic man-ways could handle you falling for M.”

 

You snort unflatteringly and entertain just the slightest visual of bumping uglies between Wrench and Marcus. It’d be like fucking a brother… super weird but you can’t deny all that all of Wrench’s sex talk is getting you hot and bothered. Either way one sliced it, your cheeks get hot and Wrench notices. 

 

He eyes you suspiciously as your tongue pokes inside the bend of his elbow, hoping it tickles and you both can get on some other talking point than this one. 

 

“See!” He shouts; accusing, “You’re already thinking about it. You silky, smooth… barbaric succubus, you.”

 

“Nah-ah,” you mumble, pulling your tongue back in your mouth only to slide up and lick the skull-bomb tattoo along his ribs, grinning at the way his stomach pulls taut in response. A little gust of breath rushes out his mouth, tickling the hairs over your forehead and you’re ninety-nine percent sure he’s starting to tent his boxers already which is perfect because a rock-hard Wrench can’t multitask outside the sphere of  'cum and make you cum.'

 

The screwdriver in his hand drops to the mattress, chin shoved over his chest, and with a hard swallow, Wrench licks his lips as you plant another kiss there with a smack.

 

He says something about you being ‘manipulative’ but sighs lovingly as you nip down his abdomen. You kiss his stomach once, twice and lift up on your palms to straddle his thighs carefully, dragging your tongue up his middle before planting a tiny kiss on his nose. 

 

“Have I told you lately how much I love your nose?” Wrench makes a face, but you kiss his lips loose and plant several over his chin and along his jaw. In his ear, you whisper, “... and your chin and jawline. I love them too, even if they make you look extra pouty when you want something.”

 

“Heeey,” he almost growls, “all the better to hypnotize you with, my dear. Wait-shit was that the eyes?”

 

“They’re beautiful too,” you tell him, ignoring the way he scoffs so you can lean up and lay a kiss on each brow. That warm ultra fuzzy feeling in your chest kindles as he leans up an extra inch for a messy forehead kiss. 

 

He blinks lazily, looking mellow and warm which is a nice change from the hyper crack fox he’d been at the party last night. 

 

With another press of your lips, you thread four fingers through his bangs, sweeping them off his forehead and drag your mouth down his temple to his other ear, whispering, “You gonna be my big bad wolf?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” Wrench pulls at your hips, fingers denting through the layers of track pant and boxer before angling his semi up along your cleft. The motion causes the blanket to slide and pool behind you.

 

You nip the pierced lobe of his ear, give him a porno moan that makes him laugh and grunt at the same time and move inside his grip. A little puff of breath warms your neck, and in an instant, you can feel his dick go from ‘hello’ to ‘holy shit.’ 

 

It’s cute watching the tense line between his brows deepen, but it’s even better when he huffs all dramatic after being so flippant a second ago as if realizing he’s been tricked into forgetting about needless jealousy bullshit and maybe doesn’t care all that much anyway. It’s rare that Wrench lets his insecurities show without dashing them with humor, but it’s early or late, and it feels like it’s just the two of you and maybe he needs a hearty dose of reassurance before he thinks about things too hard and fabricates some dilemma between you and Marcus… or whatever dude he feels threatened by at the given moment. 

 

His hands curl over your backside, drags you in, and the touch becomes something a little too clingy to be without concern. 

 

“Hey,” you whisper, setting your ass down in his lap where… yeah, there’s a thick boner waiting, but right now words are more important, “All imaginary cuckolding aside… I wouldn’t ever want to be with anyone else but you. Would you ever want to do it with another girl?” 

 

“Pffff… no,” he says with a squeeze to your hips, looking only a little pink in the cheeks as his dick pulses lightly below, “I mean, maybe in my head or something, but… no. Hell’no. You’re perfect.”

 

“Same here, I mean. I feel the same,” you admit, tilting your hips down into Wrench's erection as Black Flag grinds from the stereo system in the corner. “So, just remember that when you cum in the next three minutes - just remember that I think you’re perfect, Mr. White Chocolate-sauce.”

 

”Man, at this point, you know me way too well,” Wrench tells you with pinched brows and a rocking thrust of his hips. 

 

You sigh and shift, adjusting the angle until a dull, warming pleasure starts gripping your stomach. 

“I think,” you moan, bracing your palms on his bare chest, “at this point, we’re like the metaphorical version of The Twins from Hellraiser, except not brothers or two dudes… and the whole not-being conjoined thing too.”

 

“There are so worse ways to spend eternity,” he says; fingers rubbing up your spine and back down. 

You smirk and bite your lip for show, sighing heavily as your hips tip down and drag up; pinning his cock and working it between your bodies with slow, short undulations. 

 

“Continuing my earlier praises… when was the last time I said how much I love your dick? Cause it feels so’oh good.” 

 

At that, Wrench inhales a chuckle. Dirty talk is fun, but you both know how cheesy you are at it and rarely does it ever make it past the first try. Too much laughter really killed that sorta stuff, but maybe you’re not as bad at it as you’d thought or maybe Wrench is just soaking it up more so than usual because he rolls his ‘r’s’ fetchingly and bucks upwards. Compliment sponge, you think with a smile. 

 

“Your dick could bring me back to life if I went zombie.”

 

He grins, and you giggle, rocking back and forth until his palm smooths over your stomach, turning your hips down over his cock all the harder. You follow his lead, sinking down till he groans and then push forward until the bulbous head is pounding just between your ass. This would be better without clothes on… but, it does feel good even with the barriers. So good…

 

Another terribly reenacted line about how hard and big he is makes the two of you giggle again. Despite that, the dry humping was doing precisely what you’d intended. All those little cues you were on the lookout for were gone. The Wrench is once again back to his self-confident, cocky self and now you can stop worrying about it and focus on finishing what you’d started. 

 

“Could-could you keep talking like that?” Wrench asks and you know he doesn’t mean the dumb, dirty talk when his head falls back on the lumpy pillows with his fingers denting through your clothes and gazes up at you. 

 

The muscles in his stomach tense as you brace your hands above his navel, stroking the bare, slightly fuzzy skin up towards the splatter of ink across his chest. You curl your nails inward and watch him fill his lung in preparation. 

 

“No one else gets me like you do - no one.”

 

“Fuck…” he exhales, “same.” 

 

Wrench’s hands pinch your hips, slide down and around the clothed globes of your ass and give that a firm squeeze before eying up your naked chest. The slow churn of your hips has been making them bounce, and now the peaks of them are stiff and aching. 

 

His anarchy tattoo jumps as he gulps, parting his lips for a breathy groan before bucking his hips up; long, firm dick stimulating the bundle of nerves beyond the fabric. 

 

“It’s like your a miniature me,” Wrench says around a grunt as your hips dip down again and his stomach curls, shoving his dick along that scorching line, “but hot and s-smart-shit, you’re gonna make me cum like this.”

 

Down beside him, his mask glitches, forgotten on the bed near his shoulder. A tilde-caret wink flashes into double x’s and back into twin carets.

You blink, looking back and forth between it and Wrench’s open panting expression and pause, laying down in the divot he’s made of his hips; his thighs lifted and tense. He stiffens when you grab the mask and raise it up between the both of you, but those wide blue eyes fall into slits as soon as you slip the innards against your face. Just holding it there makes your belly twist into knots. 

It reeks of him, in the best way possible and… and this is either super uncool or a kink of his because he's as silent as a Monday matinee.

 

Brilliant HD blinds you for a second and inside the fuzzy arousal and throb of your heart and cunt, you hesitate. This really could be crossing the line. It’s something you’ve never done, only joked about a handful of times to which you’ve received mixed signals. Right now, Wrench stares at you through the mask, rakes his teeth over his lower lip and presses you harder over his dick. 

 

A throaty grunt falls out of his throat as he begins pushing you down and forward and back and forth; harder and faster. His eyes never stray from the mask held at your face, proving exactly how he feels about it. 

 

It takes one flick and snap of the heavy-duty strap to secure it to your face and even if it’s a bit too big and Wrench is obscured in places, the way he shivers is enough to reassure you that this is more than okay. This was a good gamble - this was a fucking great idea, you think as Wrench works your hips over his own, looking about as dumbstruck as a zombie drooling over a hanging chunk of meat but in a loving, very pervy way.

 

For a moment, you're too focused on the way his face twists and his tongue wets his lips between every grunt and moan, to notice the little red ‘R’ in the top corner of the display but once it catches your eye, you realize immediately what it is. A recording icon? A fucking recording function.

“Wrench, what the fuck-” you inhale with static lacing your words as he shifts underneath, his dick putting pressure right on your clit, “-you’ve got recording on this thing!” It’s not a question, but you can see even through the mask that Wrench is already trying to weigh whether he can lie and get away with it or not. It doesn’t escape your notice that he doesn’t even pause in his rhythm… almost as if this whole thing is serving to get him off all the quicker. 

 

“Uhhhhhh-” is all he manages. 

 

“Oh’my… g-gawd,” you stutter and crackle as he pounds his hips up, hands holding you steady above the grinding that's supposed to distract you from the itty bitty recording device you’ve stumbled upon. It’s not gonna work. This is-fuck… not cool. He’s trying to use similar tactics you’d employed earlier and, fuuuuuuck, it’s working. Every whimper that comes out of your mouth sounds like robot porn but it’s hot, and Wrench seems to like it more than you’d have ever imagined because every noise you utter makes him groan. It’s nearly enough to make you forget about the red symbol that’s not supposed to be there. Almost.

 

“S-seriously, dude. This? - not cool...” 

 

You dig your nails into his chest, not deep enough to break the skin, but more than enough to make him wince. Wrench goes as red as an atom bomb but doesn’t utter a fucking word, just bites his lower lip and nods as he works you over his erection like he's rowing away from a nuclear explosion. 

 

You pull back with a slack-jawed expression hidden behind the mask as he makes your hips ride all the faster, which only makes his cheeks go redder.

 

“You’re such a sneaky fucker,” you gasp, “do you actually have this thing rigged to record stuff? Us? Is there a fucking brick filled with videos I don’t know about?!”

 

“... m-maybe? Oh, shit yes...yes...” 

 

He’s about to cum. You know he’s nearly there because he makes the same face nine times out of ten and that hitched-up way he cursed made it explicit. There’s no way he’s gonna get off that easily - not now at any rate! 

 

When his fingers curl and dent, and he hisses, on the brink, you shove his body into the mattress, peel his hands off your hips despite the way he whimpers and pin his wrists down into the pillow beside his head. His back arches, tickling your hard nipples with his trembling chest. He’s panting and twitching underneath you; sweaty and flushed. 

 

“Mother fucker,” you curse. 

 

Wrench’s face is pink and glittered with sweat, and he’s staring through the display of his own mask, locking eyes as if he knows exactly where yours are.

 

“How do you hit record on this thing?”

 

“Wait, that’s not-“

 

“Dude, you’ve been recording me without saying a fucking word… I get one video to jill off to. That’s the deal.”

 

“...ugh, I’ve only got a couple-or several, and each one’s mass encrypted behind an ‘escape from LA’ sized firewall!”

 

“Wrench,” you level with him, but who knows if your facial expressions are displaying on his mask or not. “You’ve got no idea how well I’m handling this. I could be so much more pissed off than I am right now. Give me this, and I’ll let you cum.”

 

“Damn…” he tenses under your hands - wrist tendons tightening - before grimacing, “when did you become such a dom? - kinda loving it I gotta say.”

 

You glare, blushing but shimmy your hips enough that his eyes roll back and he deflates. 

 

“Fine,” Wrench concedes with a grumble fit for a twelve-year-old, “… just… let me keep it on my hard drive. I know how to properly lock that shit down without blinding the populace.”

 

“More like inciting a mass orgy,” you comment as he mocks you with silent blabs of his mouth. He’s acting like a little shithead now, but he’s unable to keep his hips from jerking and his lips from curling when you whisper that you love him. 

 

His naked, tattooed arm jerks and you release it so he can reach beneath the pillow and tug out his phone. With a couple swipes and taps, the little red ‘R’ on the display starts blinking. You don’t have to be a hacktivist to know what it means. 

 

“Alright,” Wrench whispers, sounding a little quelled but you lick your lips beneath the mask and drag your nails down his chest just to hear him gasp. 

 

“Good boy.”

 

Wrench shivers, tossing the phone down on your side of the bed before flexing his chest and anchoring himself with twin grips on the pillow under his head. He looks ready to snap but you swipe a thumb over his nipple, and he swallows; throat bobbing. A slow, firm rock of your hips brings out a groan, and after another bright red rake of your nails, he’s a weak mess once more. 

 

Inside the mask display, he’s crisp, almost glossy like something out of a slow-mo scene but without any of the lag. He tries to hold in the moans when you work over his cock just how he likes, but the noises that do escape are thin and desperate. Another pinch to his nipple makes him pant and twist, moving his face into the side of his arm; mouth open and heaving. You’ll never get bored of seeing him like this. 

 

He really does make some of the best faces when he’s worked up and about to blow and this way you’ll be able to watch him unravel whenever and wherever, again and again, and again. 

 

“Fuck-fuck… okay,” he gulps, licks his lips and winces. The grip he has on the pillow goes pale and purple with raised veins, clenching with each downwards rock of your hips. 

 

“I’m-“ Wrench whimpers, “-goddamnit… I can’t...”

 

You nod the mask, “Yes, you can. Come’on and cum like a fucking geyser for me.”

 

Wrench snorts a giggle but drops the grin as soon as your hips jerk him over again. He bites his lower lip and lifts his brows as another wave hits him. You know why he’s fighting it, but it’s a losing battle. 

 

“Come on. Cum’on… please,” you beg and pick up the pace, fucking down against his trapped cock until his shoulders flex and the bed starts banging against the wall. The strap on the back of your head starts slipping a little, but it only knocks the display down an inch, focusing on the expanse of his graffitied torso. 

 

“I love the way your ink ripples over your body… especially when you’re so close. You’re close, aren’t you - so fucking close. You know you wanna cum.” For some reason, the dirty talk doesn’t sound so forced anymore, and Wrench doesn’t laugh. 

 

He’s on the cusp, so close and while you're not gonna finish this time, the sight of Wrench trying to blow a load, while simultaneously holding it back, could have been enough to get you off. Wanting to put him in his place, but also needing to see him come undone, you palm his chest reverently, massaging his shoulders until they fall slack against the pillow and drag your thumbs along the tight muscles under his collarbones. He sighs, gazing from the mask to your tits, down to the clothed joining where he’s so, so close to cumming. You stroke everything you can reach without picking your hips up, palming and groping every heft of him, marveling at all the ink and tense muscles under his pale, damp skin. 

 

“Cum for the camera - cum for me, you sexy mother fucker, you.” It’s cute the way he blushes, furiously licking his lips as the silly compliments start to get to him. “I’ve been dreaming about the way your jizz highlights your name, ya know.”

 

“... ah’damn, ah’haa… I can’t - you’re breaking my concentration. I can’t,” he groans, but it’s all a deflection tactic, and you’ll have none of that after he nearly fed himself a pill of self-deprecation over the whole Marcus threesome comment, especially after finding out he’s got a recording button. There's probably terabytes upon terabytes of video where you're on the receiving end of this.

 

“Just accept it, Wrench… you’re a fine piece of ass and this cock? Mm’fuck me, let it give me what I want.”

 

Without breaking your rhythm, you spit in your palm, plant a hand on Wrench’s chest until he goes rigid as a tight wire and reach your slick palm inside his boxers to cup the flared, pierced head of his cock. He hitches with a hiss of breath, squeezes his eyes shut and rolls his head back as you squeeze and stroke and jerk your hips, watching his face open up as he cums in messy squirts across his belly. 

 

Guess that had been the final nail in the coffin, you think with a grin.

 

Just a little bit of skin on skin is all he needed to pop like a champagne cork.

 

You pick up every second of it on the mask, watching his stomach tighten and release with the intensity of it and then tilt the display up to watch his eyebrows pinch and smooth as the last jet of jizz pulses out of him. 

 

Boom.

 

Only when he’s calmed down, and the last twitches in his dick are but a distant memory, you sink over his thigh and chuckle. 

 

“Jesus fuck, Wrench you’re,” there’s no way to say it without sounding cheesy, but you do it anyway even if he’ll just brush it off a second later, “... you have no idea how hot you really are.”

 

“Uhnnnn’shush,” he grumbles but laughs anyway, trying to hide his big dopey smile with the back of his hands. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and sighs, combing his fingers through the sweaty bleached bangs plastered to his forehead and stares down at his messy stomach with a thin smile. 

“Shit… I’ve been brained once again by my better half, and now it’s all on video. I mean... meat puppet shows are one thing, but I’m pretty sure my ‘oh’ face game is lacking.”

 

To spare him some awkwardness, you lift the mask up and breath in a lungful of fresh, clean air before giving him a sweaty smile, “Dude, your ‘oh’ face is the best thing I’ve ever seen. Think about mine and how much you like it and then paint that with a guy brush. That’s how much I like your’s.”

 

“Ha. No way. Your ‘I’m coming, oh!my!god!’ face is better than sex sometimes.”

 

“So is yours.”

 

“Pfff, in that case, my sexy sex skills are severely lacking.”

 

“Yeah, you say that until we get this,” you remove his mask off the top of your head and wave it with a smirk, “and hook up that recording to the big screen. I’m thinking reverse cowgirl while watching this on a loop one Friday night. Either that or I’ll just hack it off your drive along with everything else to use it for my own nefarious needs.”

 

“You had me at 'reverse cowgirl'… but, seriously,” he swipes the wet strands of hair over his head again and threads his fingers on top his scalp, “I’m sorry about the recordings. I made the majority of them when I was pretty sure you’d get bored of this meat-stick and find something less… awful. I’ll let you obliterate them when we get back to the HQ.”

 

“Scouts honor?”

 

“Yea, yeah-yea. All that white hat bullshit. Scouts honor,” he flips the sign before collapsing like a starfish across the bed, groaning deliciously as the post-orgasmic chemicals begin putting him to sleep. 

 

Even though your cunt aches and this whole thing has made you horny enough to fuck a pillow and get off, you’ll hold off until next time.

 

“Sooo…” he grins maniacally.

 

You blink as Wrench starts fingering the loose knot on Marcus’ track pants, renewed energy in his gaze. He’s more composed now than before, and that faint crease under his eyes is gone for the devilish slant you know and love.

 

“Since we’re all on the same page with the whole 'Wrench being a shifty fuck-face,' how about we pop these hipster sweats off,” he flicks the knot, “and my uber classy boxers so we can sit you down on this grody face for a few hundred years?”

 

“I don’t let ‘grody’ faces near this,” you poke his fingers at your groin and give his knuckle a flick, “but, I’ll be happy to ride a handsome anarchist if one happens to be around.”

 

“Admonishment duly noted. Now let me stick my tongue up your pussy before I start saying the ‘p’ word more than once tonight.”

 

“I love you, but you say pussy one more time, and I’ll destroy you.”

 

Wrench gives you a wink and smacks your butt before muttering something about how he loves you too, and you’ll never destroy him because life would be too dull without him. It’s true of course so there no argument there.

 

With Wrench’s help, it’s a quick fumble and leg kick before you’re shivering over his hungry mouth, one of your hands posed flat on the wall and the other wrapped in his sweaty hair while whatever poor soul in the room next door listens to Wrench eat you out like a zombie that needed pussy to survive another day.

 

Great, now you were starting to use the ‘p’ word thanks to him. Small sacrifices, you think, as Wrench sucks your soul dry. 

 

Small… fucking… sacrifices…

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading. Please, if you have the time, let me know what you think in the comments. I'm in that weird state between not knowing if this is good and realizing I'm just being silly. At any rate, I hope you liked it. There is plenty more LowRes and Wrench on the way. (these two are my go-to for feel-good shit)
> 
>  
> 
> [PILLOWFORT](https://www.pillowfort.io/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
>  [CURIOUS Cat (for asks)](https://curiouscat.me/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
>  [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/LydiaBrim)   
>  [INSTAGRAM](https://www.instagram.com/brim_brim_brim_brim/)


End file.
